


superman

by purplehedgehogskies



Series: in your orbit [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Birthday Sex, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Keith (Voltron), Halloween Costumes, Having Serious Conversations About the Future During Sex, Healthy Communication, It's BARELY angst mostly you just get fluff i swear, James Griffin (Voltron) Being an Asshole, Keith & Shiro (Voltron) are Adoptive Siblings, Kosmo is Keith's Big Baby Doggo, Lance (Voltron) is a Dork, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Nurse Lance (Voltron), Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Pining Keith (Voltron), Talking During Sex, Trans Keith (Voltron), Trans Male Character, Trans Male Keith (Voltron), Vaginal Sex, soft klance, they/them pidge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29396295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplehedgehogskies/pseuds/purplehedgehogskies
Summary: Lance has landed a job at one of the local hospitals, which keeps him close--but his hours are brutal and it feels like Keith never sees him anymore. When he does, Lance is exhausted.Keith isn't lonely. He has his dog and his brother. He goes to work and talks to his friends. It's just that he misses Lance the whole time.Lance and Keith navigate conflicting schedules and make time together, but not everything can go their way. Rather than wait around, Keith must step out of his comfort zone of pining and unintentionally isolating himself and have a life that doesn't revolve around Lance.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: in your orbit [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980274
Comments: 1
Kudos: 45





	superman

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I know it's Valentine's Day season and this Fic is about October/Halloween but life happens and fixations shift. If you like Zuko/Sokka of the ATLA universe, consider popping over to the Zukka fic that I started in late 2020 instead of finishing this. I have some other ideas for this series but I can't guarantee when or if I'll get to them, so. They'll just be a surprise when/if they happen! 
> 
> If you're only here for the plot and not the smut:  
> There's a less explicit sex scene after the shower on Keith's birthday, and it ends when "Keith sifted through his tangled blankets..."  
> The other is at the end of the fic, beginning after they have pancakes and ending around "That was incredible." During this scene they breifly talk about moving in together someday.

“What the fuck? Hey!” Keith shouted, rising to stand on the couch cushions, stretching to reach Shiro. His brother dodged easily, holding the ice cream carton that he’d swiped behind his back. So, Keith did the logical thing and vaulted over the back of the sofa, earning a startled laugh from Shiro as he rounded the couch to get out of reach again. “Give it back!”

Kosmo, roused from his nap at Keith’s feet, tilted his head as he watched the situation unfold. When he saw what looked like playing, he got up on his less-than-graceful puppy legs and vocalized his excitement.

“No!” said Shiro. Kosmo took pause, but Keith kept on. 

“Shiro!” Keith growled, pursuing him. Keith had more muscle and an inch or so on Shiro, but Shiro still had implicit memory of his hand-to-hand combat training and his footwork remained impressive. They were pretty evenly matched, really, but Keith didn’t feel like having fun with it. He didn’t want to spar, he wanted to eat ice cream and watch explosions on the TV, dammit.

“Stop! Eating! Ice cream!” Shiro said, using his body to shield the ice cream as he made his way to the kitchen to retrieve the lid. Kosmo trotted after him, his nails clicking on the kitchen tile. Keith made a note in his head to trim them tomorrow, maybe

“No,” Keith said. “I feel shitty!”

Shiro laughed and used his leg to keep Keith far enough away so that he could return the carton to the freezer and subsequently block the door with his body. Kosmo turned circles around the kitchen, less than satisfied with this outcome. Keith bent to pick him up, pressing half his face into shaggy dark fur. He was getting huge, nearing nine months and ninety pounds, but Keith didn’t care.

“You’ll feel shittier if you keep eating that crap.”

Keith spun on his heel and stomped off to his room, Kosmo happily panting in his arms, wiggling only when he tried to lick Keith’s face and found he couldn’t reach. Shiro followed at a distance, leaning in the doorway as Keith put his dog down and stalked listlessly around his bedroom, kicking at discarded clothes before deciding to pick them all up and put them in the hamper. Kosmo followed Keith with his eyes, wagging his tail and occasionally tapping his feet excitedly, as though anticipating that Keith would play with him soon. Shiro waited smugly as Keith moved to his desk to clear some of the clutter and garbage.

Finally, Keith sat on his bed and pulled his phone from his pocket, checking his inbox to find nothing new. It was cool—he hadn’t expected it. He just felt like he was clawing at the inside of his own chest and on the verge of tearing his hair out. No big deal.

“Didn’t you say his shift ends at midnight?” asked Shiro.

“No. It ends at two.”

“Well, either way. It’s only eleven,” said Shiro. “He’ll answer when he can.”

Keith had half a mind to elbow Shiro into the hallway and close the door in his face, but instead he flopped onto his back. He was being unreasonably dramatic about the whole thing, as there was very little at stake and nothing about his last message to Lance was time sensitive. But he missed his boyfriend desperately. 

The rotation Lance was on lately was brutal, working urgent care in the evenings and nights and crashing during the day. Keith worked when Lance slept, and Lance went to the hospital before Keith was even done at the school. The closest they’d had to a date in the last two months was when Lance picked up something on his way home from work and brought it to Keith’s place. He missed Lance’s frequent texting and his face and doing more with him in bed than just spooning or sleeping or eating Taco Bell.

At least he could still crawl into bed with the man he loved and kiss him goodnight or good morning sometimes. When their days off matched, Keith could still take Lance to the movies or for a walk with Kosmo. Their sex life was still very much alive, but didn’t come knocking all that often anymore; when it did, it was rushed or lazy and didn’t really hit the spot.

Keith was grateful for what he had. It was just _frustrating_.

“You don’t have to spend your nights waiting for him all the time, you know,” said Shiro. “It’s nuts.”

“I know,” Keith grumbled.

“It won’t always be like this,” said Shiro.

“I _know_ ,” said Keith, without looking over at his brother. He’d heard it all before, and he’d heard it from so many people. Lance himself kept saying he wouldn’t always work such crazy hours, but it seemed like he was dealt a shit hand every time his schedule changed. Everyone had seniority over him. “You got what you wanted, man. No more dairy. Can you leave me alone?”

Shiro sighed, and Keith heard the sound of his footsteps retreating. He picked up his phone again and swiped through his games, occupying himself with sudoku and word games and match three bullshit for a while. He let Kosmo up on the bed after some consideration, deciding he liked the weight of Kosmo’s big head on his stomach.

Keith must have dozed off, because his phone vibrated insistently against his chest in the early hours of the morning. He jolted awake to answer, only mildly disturbing the dog sprawled out beside him. Kosmo snuffled and shifted, but stayed asleep.

“Lance?”

“Hey, baby,” said Lance, his voice tired and a little raspy. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Keith bluffed. “Are you comin’ over?”

Lance sighed. “I’m just gonna take a shower and go right to bed.”

“You can do that here,” said Keith. “I’ll kick Stinky out of bed.”

But Lance yawned, and Keith knew it was a lost cause.

“I’m almost home, baby,” he said, sounding almost as disappointed as Keith felt. “Next time I’ll totally come snuggle you. Maybe we can do something fun next week when I have those two days? After my dentist appointment on Tuesday?”

“Yeah,” said Keith. Keith closed his eyes and breathed in deep through his nose, out through his mouth. He was torn between crying and taking out his frustration on his pillows. He did neither, instead rolling on his side and plugging his phone in. “Will you stay on until you get there?”

“Yeah,” said Lance. “I can do that.”

The rest of Lance’s drive home, he put the radio on and sang softly to the latest hits while Keith listened and breathed into the phone like a weirdo. In what felt like no time at all, the radio was off and Lance’s keys were jingling as he pulled them from the ignition.

“I love you,” said Keith.

“I love you, too,” Lance replied gently, humming lovingly into the phone. Keith closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was hearing it in person. “I miss you.”

“Funnily enough,” said Keith. “I was just about to say the same thing.”

****

As promised, Lance left his appointment on Tuesday and went right to Keith, bringing him a nice takeout lunch that they ate together in his office, down the hall from the noisy indoor training gym, where classes were held now that most days were chilly and damp.

“I’m going to try to get Halloween off,” Lance said to him as he doodled in the weekly planner that Keith kept at his desk. “It’ll be hard, I think, since it’s kind of a huge day for injuries, but…”

“It’s okay if you don’t,” said Keith, feeding Kosmo a little bit of bacon from his sandwich. Now that he had Kosmo, every day was bring your dumb little baby to work day. “Christmas is way more important to the family, don’t you think?”

“Oh,” Lance said, his eyes widening as he looked up from the calendar. “I was just thinking that Halloween together would be nice, since I already know I have to work on your birthday…”

“I don’t mind,” said Keith. He minded, but not really because of his birthday—just because he wanted to spend every moment he could with Lance, and the stupid job was getting in the way. He loved that Lance was living his dream and doing what he was called to do, but he hated the gritty, time consuming reality of it.

“Really?” asked Lance. “Are you sure?”

“I really want you to get Christmas off,” said Keith. “I don’t want to go alone. If your brothers don’t gang up on me, Nadia and Sylvio will.”

“You’re coming to Christmas?” asked Lance, his voice pitching up at the end. Keith raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah? What, was I not invited?” he asked. “I kinda just assumed, sorry.” 

“No, yeah, you assumed right. But you would go without me?”

It was hard to tell if Lance was asking because he thought it was weird that Keith would think of going without him, or if he was just surprised by it. Keith shrugged, playing it off—but he had pointedly avoided making plans with his mother and Shiro for the holidays based on his assumption that Lance’s family would want him. He’d sort of just thought it was a given that his Christmas would be spent with Lance’s family, and was only now realizing that they weren’t really on the same page.

Lance was quiet for a long time after that, still picking at the last of his lunch while Keith finished the iced tea Lance had bought him. Eventually, he slid Keith’s planner over to him and pointed out that his next scheduled session was starting soon; Lance was too impatient to stick around in Keith’s office for the rest of the day, so he kissed Keith’s hairline and waved goodbye on his way out the door.

“Meet me at my place when you’re done?” asked Lance. Keith agreed, already halfway out the door himself.

He had a few more classes and a budget meeting before close, and then he had to finish up some assistant managerial paperwork before he could lock up and head to Lance’s apartment. He drove over–dropping Kosmo off at home on his way—and wondered if Lance was waiting up for him, imagining him naked and flushed and prepped for something special. Keith felt the heat of the idea spread into his cheeks and down his neck as he drove, his nerves alighting in anticipation. He felt like it had been forever, and lately his sex drive had felt like an itch he just couldn’t scratch on his own.

Keith arrived at Lance’s apartment, feeling kind of hot and bothered already, and let himself in. Hunk didn’t seem to be home yet, and Lance was nowhere in sight, so Keith ventured down the hall in socked feet, nudging Lance’s bedroom door open—

There was Lance, wearing just a pair of slouchy sweats, fast asleep with his phone on his chest. He sighed in his sleep, and despite the glimmer of disappointment that was only natural after getting himself worked up on the way over, Keith felt warm affection fill his chest. He pulled a blanket up over Lance’s torso, plugged his phone in on the nightstand, and kissed his forehead softy.

Then he took a cold shower before crawling into bed.

In the morning, Lance kissed him soft and sweet and, upon request, devoted twenty minutes to taking Keith apart with his skillful fingers. It was very considerate of him.

After Keith went to work for a few sessions, he met up with Lance at one their favorite restaurants, a fun little Asian-Latin fusion place that Hunk had introduced them to when he worked there for a summer.

He found Lance sitting in a booth facing the door, his head craned back to gaze at the ceiling—painted a rich navy and speckled with stars, glittering strings of lights strung up at random intervals. They shared a huge order of loaded fries and a combination plate of the kitchen’s three kinds of spicy shrimp. Like old times, they talked and laughed and kicked each other under the table.

Keith had always thought of romantic dinner dates as white-tableclothed, candlelit affairs with a lot of hand touching and eye contact and fancy wine. It had always sounded so boring to him, his suspicions seemingly confirmed by the dull dinners with his ex.

Keith was beginning to see that a date didn’t have to be expensive and intimate to be romantic. A night like this, with good food in large portions and enough foolery that they were easily the second-loudest table in the place…this seemed like the height of romance. The determining factor, the thing he’d been missing, was the comfort of the familiar and the feeling of being known; the thing he’d been missing was Lance.

****

The first half of October flew by, and Keith enjoyed what little time he got with Lance, but the ache of missing him came back often. Gone was the blissful honeymoon phase, replaced by what felt like constant wanting. Keith was pent up and antsy and he missed Lance all the time, and it was turning him into a horny monster. When they had sex, Keith was desperate and Lance let him take what he wanted like a pillow prince. It was still good, even if Keith wished he would really delve into it.

More often, Lance shuffled into Keith’s apartment already yawning, and he would take his shower to wash off the sweat and antiseptic smell, and then he would promptly pass out. Keith loved to watch him fall asleep, sometimes talking to Keith with growing incoherence as he drifted off, sometimes just smiling at Keith as his eyelids seemed to double and triple in weight.

Keith found himself cherishing sleepy Lance and the scraps of domesticity they got, while also craving more. He was happier than ever, even with the disappointment of seeing so little of Lance, but they had never really been attached at the hip. Physically, however, he was beginning to feel like his desire was pushing up against his skin, buzzing through his muscles, demanding to be sated.

It was frustrating. He didn’t want to be thinking about sex constantly, didn’t want to feel stirrings in his gut at the slightest of suggestions. Once he’d damn near rubbed himself off while Lance was showering down the hall, the image of him naked enough to open the floodgates.

By the time Keith’s birthday rolled around, he barely even felt satisfied after a stint with his favorite vibrator.

At least he would get to see Lance, who had promised some birthday pampering after his shift. Keith waited up for him long after Shiro went to bed, playing with Kosmo and watching random shit on YouTube as he counted down the hours. Eventually, Kosmo settled down and lay the couch with his head in Keith’s lap, soaking up the distracted head scratches.

And then the puppy’s head perked up, having heard someone in the hallway. Keith shooed him off, but Kosmo was almost a step ahead of him as he went to the door, wagging his tail and looking between Keith and the handle expectantly.

Lance let himself in, but he was barely inside the door before Keith latched onto him. Kosmo barked once, unable to contain his excitement, and scampered around their legs. Sometimes it was like Keith’s dog was almost as obsessed with Lance as Keith was, albeit in none of the same ways.

“Hey,” said Lance between kisses. “Happy birthday, pumpkin pie.”

“Uuugh,” Keith groaned at the nickname, but he didn’t let it discourage him. He curled his fingers in Lance’s scrubs, tugging him towards the hall. Lance stumbled with him, biting his lip to keep from laughing as they passed Shiro’s closed bedroom door.

“Where’re we going, babes?” asked Lance when they passed Keith’s room, too. Keith answered by dragging him into the bathroom, gently nudging Kosmo into the hall when he tried to follow. Kosmo was a good boy, taking well to Keith’s training, so he stayed. Keith locked the door before stripping off his own shirt. “Oh, yeah, good idea.”

“You talk too much,” said Keith.

“You love it,” Lance replied, wiggling out of his scrub top and discarding it on the floor. The shirt he wore underneath landed beside it. “I’m disgusting, though, seriously. Scrubbing me down first is ideal.”

Keith turned his back to Lance, turning on the shower spray and sticking his hand under to wait for it to warm. Lance shuffled up behind him and kissed Keith’s bare shoulder; swept aside his hair to kiss the nape of his neck. Keith leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed as he sighed contently.

It no longer really mattered to Keith if the water was warm enough. He was shucking off his sweatpants and kicking them aside, and in the next breath reaching behind him for Lance’s waistband—

“Wait, were you not wearing underwear?” Lance asked, his hands grazing Keith’s hips.

Keith groaned, exasperated. “Could you just get naked, already?”

Lance kicked off his ugly nonslip shoes and toed off the accompanying socks, laughing warmly as he left them in the growing pile of clothes. Keith was grabbing at him before he could finish getting out of his pants and boxers, and Lance just kept laughing as Keith manhandled him over the side of the tub. It got Lance’s clothes a little wet so that they made a distinct slapping sound when he finally dropped them on the bathroom floor, a little bit of the shower spray spilling out with them.

Keith took Lance’s face in his hands, bumping their noses together; Lance’s palms splayed wide over Keith’s hip and lower back. The want was all-consuming, begging Keith to pull Lance closer, to seep into him, to feel him everywhere. Lance smiled into it when Keith caught his lips, indulging him a moment.

He pulled away to chuckle softly against Keith’s wet cheek, and Keith almost growled.

“Soap,” said Lance.

Keith reached around him, pressing their bodies together in the process, retrieving Lance’s preferred shampoo from the caddy that hung over the showerhead. Keith had shoved aside his products to make room for Lance’s, which had now overtaken the corner of the bathtub, too. He had not yet encroached upon Shiro’s shelf, wary of filling the space that Adam had left empty.

Keith spilled the peachy-smelling shampoo into his hand and lathered Lance’s hair; before he could close it again, Lance stole the bottle to do the same for him. Keith still used his own when he showered by himself, knowing that Lance paid a pretty penny for this stuff, but he delighted in smelling like Lance. Lance’s fingers scrubbed gentle circles around his scalp, humming something like a lullaby. Keith’s hands fell to Lance’s shoulders, rendered useless. Lance turned him around to rinse out his hair, combing his fingers through in a way that tugged only lightly at the roots. Keith felt like he’d go down the drain with the suds.

“Lance,” Keith murmured.

“Yeah?”

“Mmmmm,” was all Keith could say in response when Lance’s hands migrated from his hair to his shoulders, rubbing out some of the tension there. He leaned into it, thinking idly that he’d do the same for Lance in a moment. First, he’d enjoy the way Lance’s knuckles kneaded softly into the arch of Keith’s spine, finding the spots where his touch was needed most. When Lance’s hands left his skin, Keith turned around. “Your turn.”

“Not done with you,” said Lance, reaching for his body wash. “It’s _your_ birthday.”

“Don’t care,” said Keith, but he let Lance lather the soap over his loofah and bring it to Keith’s chest, squeezing suds over him and watching them run down his body. Then he wrenched it out of Lance’s hands to return the favor, spreading soap over his shoulders and chest. “How are you not exhausted?”

“Had a couple energy drinks on the way over,” said Lance. “I wanted to stay awake for you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” said Lance, his voice catching when Keith’s hands slid down around his hips, bringing the trail of suds around to his back and the swell of his ass. Keith laughed and couldn’t help but kiss him again, delighting in the tremble of his breath when his thigh slid against Lance’s crotch. Lance pulled away, soaping up what Keith had missed and ducking back under the spray. “Okay, rinse time. We’re done here. No time for conditioner.”

“Who _are_ you?” asked Keith, feigning bewilderment. Lance ignored him, pulling away so he could rinse away what was left of his soap and shampoo. He looked Keith up and down to check for suds, and, finding none, he took it upon himself to turn off the showerhead.

They hastily dried off and wrapped towels at their waists, gathering up their clothes to bring with them to Keith’s room. Kosmo was lying on the floor beside the bed, jumping up and wiggling happily as Lance approached. Lance secured his towel before he bent down and scooped Kosmo up into his arms. Kosmo was happy to be carried like a baby, spending the trip with his tongue lolled out and his eyes bright with adoration, before Lance deposited him outside the bedroom door. Keith shed his towel and dried his hair a little more, half listening to Lance cooing and kissing and apologizing to the dog before shutting him out of the room.

Once Lance turned the lock, Keith closed the distance between them quickly, his hands landing on Lance’s slippery skin. They backed away from the door together, and Keith got a steady enough grip to lift Lance by his waist just a little—a signal that had Lance humming in approval and untucking his towel so that it fell around his feet. He wrapped his arms around Keith’s neck and let himself be hoisted up by the back of his thighs. Lance loved this, and responded by peppering Keith’s face and neck in kisses.

Keith brought him over to his bed and laid him down, but did not untangle himself; instead he caught Lance’s lips with his, licking into his mouth and tasting the trace of the energy drink Lance had mentioned. Lance returned the kiss, his hands roving around Keith’s back, his body warm and soft and pliant in Keith’s arms. God, he was beautiful.

Keith lifted his head so he could gaze at Lance’s face, catching his eye and stroking his hair back from his face. Lance laughed and stroked Keith’s cheek with the pad of his thumb, looking so in awe and in love, and that was for _Keith_.

Keith kissed and touched him all over, paying special attention to the legs wrapped around him—Lance’s legs were a gift that went on for miles, covered in tiny moles and a soft layer of dark hair. Sometimes Lance pampered himself and shaved them, and then encouraged Keith to slide his hands all over his smooth skin. But Keith loved them both ways, all ways, as long as they were attached to Lance.

Lance used those very legs against him, locking them around Keith’s hips and pushing against the mattress until he had enough leverage to flip them over. Keith couldn’t complain; looking up at Lance was just as good as looking down at him. Especially when Lance brought his soft touch to Keith’s thighs, firm and gentle all at once. One hand continued these ministrations while the other wandered to Keith’s folds, gathering up his wetness and going to work.

Lance brought one orgasm with his fingers and moved on to use his mouth, alternating between licking and sucking Keith’s growth and dipping his tongue into Keith’s pussy. As usual, Lance hummed sweetly like he was having the time of his life between Keith’s legs, tracing shapes with his tongue and nosing lovingly into Keith’s hip whenever he paused for breath. Keith came again that way, and then a third time before tapping out; Lance finished himself off with a few strokes of his hand, wiped it off with his discarded towel, and flopped down on the bed.

Keith sifted through his tangled blankets for the big one that he could drape over both of them.

“Hey,” said Lance softly. Keith grunted in acknowledgement as he wrestled out the mass of red fleece, shaking it out to its full breadth before throwing it over himself and Lance.

Keith snuggled up in the covers, half of his face buried in his pillow.

“Hi,” he answered belatedly. 

“If you want, we can go again in a little bit,” said Lance, finding Keith’s hand under the blanket and weaving their fingers together. “It’s your birthday, you should get fucked as much as you want.”

Keith snorted obnoxiously into the pillow, and Lance squeezed his hand.

“It’s not really my birthday anymore,” said Keith.

“It’s your birthday until you go to sleep,” said Lance. “Fuck, I brought you something. Hold on, hold on.”

Keith whined as Lance rolled out of bed and wiggled into a pair of Keith’s lounge pants, pulling the drawstrings tight so they would stay on; he didn’t bother with anything else as he practically sprinted out of the bedroom, letting Kosmo in on his way. Kosmo hopped around on his paws impatiently, waiting for permission to come up on the bed.

“Sorry,” Lance stage-whispered, disappearing down the hall. In the meantime, Keith patted the bed to give Kosmo the green light, and the dog leapt up happily and laid across Keith’s legs.

“He’s silly,” Keith said, scratching between Kosmo’s ears. “But we love him.”

Kosmo licked Keith’s arm as if in agreement. Lance returned a moment later with his bag in his hand, setting it on the bed away from Kosmo and slipping back under the blanket, sitting up this time.

“It’s, um. F-O-O-D,” said Lance. “So maybe little Wolfy-Woo should not be here when I present it to you.”

“Yeah,” said Keith. “We’re still working on not eating literally everything, aren’t we?”

Kosmo exhaled through his nose in answer. Keith motioned for him to get down, patting the side of the mattress now, and Kosmo put his head down between his front paws in protest. Keith tried again, accompanying the signal with a stern “Kosmo, down,” and got the desired response. Kosmo jumped down, freeing Keith’s legs, and sat at the bedside waiting for his next direction.

Naked and cold and glad that Shiro had gone to bed hours ago, Keith got up and ushered his dog into the hallway, rewarding him with one of the toys he kept in the top drawer of his dresser. Keith pointed down the hall and said, “Bedtime,” and Kosmo bounded off with his loved up plush lion, probably to gnaw on his face a little more before going to sleep.

Keith closed the door and got back into bed with Lance, who had retrieved the snack and put his backpack on the floor, out of the way. When Keith held out his hands, palms up, Lance placed a crinkly bakery bag in them. 

Keith opened it carefully, trying not to rustle the packaging too much and alert the hound down the hall. Inside were two frosted sugar cookies, shimmering in the lamplight. In shiny gold icing, someone had painted the letter K on one cookie and the number 23 on the other. Lance must have ordered them special at the bakery they liked, down the street from his place.

“Oh,” said Keith.

“Yeah?”

“Oh! Gold, like golden birthday,” said Keith as it came to him. “Duh. I take it you got two because you wanted to eat one?”

“Fucking obviously.”

Keith took the cookie with the number and Lance ate his initial, trying his very best to catch the crumbs with his hand and the parchment paper they came in. Keith didn’t care as much, though he would probably vacuum the sheets before letting Kosmo back up. Just in case.

“Good?” asked Lance as Keith licked a little bit of crumbly dried frosting from his thumb. Keith nodded, stealing Lance’s hands and mouthing at the residue there, as well. Lance gasped, though it was more in horror than arousal, as he realized, “Ugh, I forgot to wash my hands.”

Keith raised his eyebrow, and Lance rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. It didn’t need to be said that Keith hardly had a problem with the other substance that had recently been on Lance’s hands.

“Thanks,” said Keith. “Best birthday gift ever.”

“The cookies or the sex?”

“Yes,” said Keith with a chuckle, discarding the trash scattered across the bed and leaning in to plant several sweet, plush kisses on Lance’s cheeks. He started high on his cheekbones and worked his way down, pressing aside a wayward tendril of Lance’s hair.

“Hmm. Good,” Lance murmured. “If I hadn’t measured up, though, I also got you that pair of boots you wanted. With the rainbow soles.”

Keith drew back and pushed Lance over, following him to the other side of the bed. He hovered over his partner, supported by his hands and staring down at Lance intensely.

“You’re kidding. Those were so expensive,” Keith said gruffly. Lance looked almost sheepish, but he must have seen something soft in Keith’s eyes, because concern quickly dissipated into a smile.

“Dude, it’s your fucking birthday,” said Lance, reaching up to cup the back of Keith’s head and scratch softly at his scalp. “Plus, I’m a master at finding discount codes.”

Keith groaned and buried his face in the covers beside Lance’s head. How did he get so fucking lucky?

****

Keith spent the next few days nearly _floating_ through his routine. He missed Lance but he had the memory of his birthday close at hand whenever it started to sting. He wore his new boots around, despite how they pinched a little at first, and thought of how charmed he was by the gesture when he’d thought there was little Lance could do to surprise him anymore. Not to mention, he would’ve done the same for Lance in a heartbeat. Still, Keith had thought he was already head over heels, but then Lance did something sweet and reminded Keith that they were still new to this, and the repertoire of romantic gestures was far from exhausted.

This year, Allura had decided not to hold a Halloween fundraiser, instead planning a fall adoption event with shelters all over the city for the next week. Keith was looking forward to matching up families with animals instead of schmoozing with clients and benefactors strolling around his place of employment in stupid costumes. Keith was terrible at schmoozing.

So, Keith was free on Halloween to do whatever he pleased. He wanted to spend it with his boyfriend, of course, but he himself had told Lance not to bother asking off. On top of that, Lance had urged Keith not to spend every night just waiting around—the moment had been silly and sweet, Lance pinning him to the bed as Keith giggled and squirmed and attempted to kiss Lance all over his face; Lance had ignored him and insisted that Keith have a social life even when Lance couldn’t be there.

It wasn’t that Keith felt like he had to stay in, it was just that sometimes everyone else paled in comparison to his favorite person in the world. Plus, he had Kosmo. He was hardly _lonely_.

Still, Keith had agreed and jumped into his group chat with Matt and Pidge. He asked them first what their plans were, and when he found out a bunch of their mutual friends and acquaintances were hitting up the Pixel—an arcade bar they’d all frequented in college—Keith opted to join them. The spot was even on Acxa’s Gay Halloween Odyssey, arranged with her cool punk lesbian friends that Keith barely knew; Krolia had promised Acxa’s uncle that she’d be designated driver.

It was kind of hilarious, actually, how many people he knew were going to be there in some capacity. He wished Lance was on the list, but telling himself that having Lance for the winter holidays was more important was helping. A little. 

Keith was pulling on a Halloween t-shirt with a vaguely gruesome Jack-O-Lantern on the front when Shiro knocked on his bedroom door.

“Come in,” said Keith.

“Hey,” said Shiro, opening the door. Kosmo wove through his legs and squeezed into the room, trotting up to Keith and licking his bare toes. “How’s it goin?”

“Hey,” said Keith, smoothing the shirt down over his chest. He’d never worn this one post-op, and he’d forgotten that it was on the loose side—but it was fine with the tight, ripped jeans he was wearing. 

“Is that what you’re wearing?” asked Shiro.

“Yeah,” Keith answered warily, concerned as to why Shiro sounded surprised, maybe even judgey.

“I thought Lance would be inducting you into the Couple Costume Club,” said Shiro. “Shame.”

“Lance is working tonight,” said Keith. “I told you.”

“Right, I just figured you’d have a costume.”

“Well, I don’t,” said Keith. “I didn’t really plan one and I figured this would be more comfortable.”

Shiro tapped his chin in thought and spun on his heel, disappearing into his own room. Kosmo, his ears perked up in interest, trotted after him. In a few moments, they both returned to find Keith waiting in the same place, his arms crossed over his chest.

“What?” asked Keith.

Shiro was carrying a bundle of fabric, mostly white, but something blue flashed out from between the folds. He brought it over to Keith’s bed, spilling it all out and revealing the remnants of one of his old costumes. It was from the first Halloween after Keith moved in with Shiro and Adam—a plain white button-up to wear over a Superman t-shirt, complete with a glossy laminated press badge. Adam had been his Lois Lane.

“Superman?” asked Keith. “That’s…not really my style, but I appreciate the thought.”

“I mean, Pidge and Matt will be brutal if you don’t wear one,” said Shiro, picking up the t-shirt and examining it for something—wrinkles or spots, maybe. For good measure, he held it to his nose. Keith sighed. “Anyway, I was figuring the slightly edgy vibe you’d add to Clark Kent would drive Lance crazy.”

“It’s weird that you know that.”

Shiro shrugged. “We watched Superman together once. He talks through every movie.”

Watching anything with Lance took some getting used to, but he didn’t talk _constantly_ —it was more that he talked to fill silences or share his thoughts. It was worse when Keith had first met him, and the first time he’d sat next to Keith during a film he’d almost gotten decked, it was that annoying. Now, Keith only got peeved when it was on just that side of too much, or if Lance was bothering other viewers. Sometimes he listened to Lance more than he paid attention to the screen, because Lance was smarter, funnier, and sexier than any movie.

Shit, Keith had it so, so bad. He’d thought he was pretty obsessed with Lance before they’d gotten together, but now that Keith had him, the missing him practically made Lance seem like a god.

“Lance isn’t coming, though,” said Keith, sighing and picking up the Daily Planet badge that Adam had made all those years ago. Some of the lamination was bent at the corner, but it was in good shape.

“I assumed you would crash at his place, though,” said Shiro. “Either way, there’s always Instagram.”

“Ew, you know what Instagram is? Aren’t you like, eighty?” asked Keith.

Shiro frowned. “Ha ha. Hilarious.”

Keith pulled a face, baring his teeth and sticking out his tongue in the snarkiest way possible. Shiro rolled his eyes, like he was above it all, but when the mood struck Shiro could be a shit, too. Keith was just far more of a gremlin about it.

“Well, choice is yours,” said Shiro. “But I think they’re running a special if you wear a costume.”

Keith wasn’t the biggest costume guy, but he wouldn’t deny that it could be fun. Plus, he was frugal and loved getting discounts and deals, so with the promise of saving money he was sold. He wouldn’t have chosen this costume for himself and he would absolutely be taking some liberties with it, but he would make the most of it. Lance would be proud of him.

Keith pulled his t-shirt up over his head and threw it at Shiro, who laughed and eastly batted it away before hightailing it out of the room, lest he get attacked further.

Keith traded his contacts for his glasses, but left his ripped black jeans on as he donned Shiro’s costume, rolling up the shirtsleeves and leaving it unbuttoned. He left his hair down, but made sure to carry a few elastics on his wrist just in case.

When he slid into the backseat of Matt’s car, Pidge squinted at him through their glasses.

“What?” Keith asked.

“Is that—are you Clark Kent?” they asked. Keith shrugged noncommittally, earning himself a swat on the knee. Pidge had to rise halfway out of the passenger seat to reach him.

“I fuckin love it,” said Matt, glancing over his shoulder. “Keith said gay transgender Asian Superman rights.”

“It’s not _Keith_ , though,” Pidge complained. “You need to let me help you put together an actually good costume next year.”

“If you do all the work, fine,” said Keith. “There’s nothing wrong with this one, though.”

“Except that it’s reused,” said Pidge. “Shiro and Adam wore that corny shit to our Halloween party that year. You’re not slick.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

“I think it suits him,” said Matt. Pidge made an annoyed sound at him. “Really, I do. For one thing, remember Keith’s alien phase?”

“It’s not a phase,” Pidge said. “He restarted X-Files last week.”

“Nice. Anyway, point the first. Superman is an alien,” Matt went on. “And item B, Kal-El feels isolated by the fact that he’s the only one of his kind, foreign to his parents and peers even if they don’t necessarily know how he’s different. And you know how Keith grew up in the Texas foster system? It’s that.”

“Texas foster system as a nonwhite queer kid,” Keith added, leaning forward against the back of Matt’s seat so he could lock eyes with Pidge again. “I guess I _am_ Superman.”

Pidge scoffed. Matt started talking about Superman comics and other implications of Kal-El/Clark Kent’s storylines; Pidge continued to be a shit about it, but the way their eyes shone behind their glasses betrayed their interest.

Satisfied that the conversation was no longer about him and his upbringing, Keith pulled out his phone to see that the group chat had lit up with several notifications. Sometime between him getting into the car and now, Pidge had dropped “ _Keith is Superman. Discuss.”_ in the chat with no context at all, to which Lance had responded with a series of emojis and lewd statements.

A few minutes later, when Pidge checked their phone again, they actively gagged and showed Matt at the red light. He snorted in laughter.

“Dude, he’s not wrong—Keith’s got cake,” said Matt.

“For that, I think I will have to unalive you,” said Pidge.

“I’ll help,” Keith said, now aiming a kick at the back of Matt’s seat. He liked how kicking things felt in his new rainbow boots.

They arrived at the Pixel and parked in a nearby garage, where the elevator was out of order and they had to hike down three flights of stairs, walk a block, and cross the street to get to the bar. Pidge’s costume—something from a Dungeons and Dragons podcast—included a cape that they swished around the whole way; Matt had built his own _Ghostbusters_ proton pack that he pointed at a few more ghastly costumes they encountered. Keith hung back from them, his hands shoved in his pockets as he acted like he’d never seen Matt or Pidge before in his life.

The trio made it to the line and got in the door with little trouble, as the building was not yet at capacity. The bouncers checked their IDs and stamped their hands with UV ink in case any of the bartenders didn’t have time to card them again, which was something that the Pixel really only had to do for special events. Pidge was absolutely thrilled to get a stamp for the first time, even though they’d been twenty-one since April and wouldn’t be imbibing, since they promised to drive.

The place was filled with spooky music and sound effects for the occasion, strategically placed blacklights glowing along the walls and above the bar. Matt quickly spotted the cluster of their friends sprawled across a couple of booths near the arcade, making a beeline that way while Pidge surveyed the dance floor. They didn’t dance much, but they loved to watch people—the good, the bad, and the drunk. Keith lingered at their side a minute before heading to the bar to put in an appetizer order and get one of the specialty hard ciders he liked.

The bartender wrote something on his napkin, and Keith sighed when she slid it over to him. _Txt me, Superman. XXX-XXXX._ He tried not to be too obvious about throwing the napkin away on his way to the table. Keith slid into the booth beside Acxa, who had covered her choppy, multicolored haircut with a curly black wig—she was almost unrecognizable, but her weirdly impeccable posture and the way she tilted up the corner of her mouth in lieu of laughing at him.

“What was that about?” she asked.

“Set of digits that I don’t want,” said Keith, looking on as Acxa’s friends piled into the booth juggling several shots between them and already giggling like they’d had a few.

“You should’ve kept it for me,” said Acxa smoothly. Ezor leaned across the table and smacked the lacquered surface excitedly; a little aggressively.

“Or for me!” said Ezor. She squealed when Zethrid grabbed the back of her dress and dragged her back into the seat. “Oh, it would’ve been fun for all of us to try our luck. Don’t be jealous, Zeth, you could get back with this at any time.”

“They’re off again,” said Acxa, turning to speak only to Keith again. Ezor was sufficiently occupied by her shots once more, but Narti seemed tuned into Acxa and Keith’s side of the table. She didn’t say anything—as usual—she just listened. “See how long that lasts when we’re all getting embarrassingly wasted. I hope your poor mother doesn’t have to cart them home when they’re all over each other.”

“I’m sure she’s seen worse. She’s driven cabs all over,” said Keith, swirling the liquid around in his bottle. “Is she around?”

Acxa nodded to the other booth, where a handful of school friends were making a racket about placing bets. It appeared that Krolia had taken Griffin up on Skeeball Competition, and the pool was rapidly growing—Keith got up and sauntered over to put money on his mom.

“Dude,” said James, kicking Keith’s leg. Keith made a face at him—James Griffin liked to think he and Keith were closer than they were. They’d had orientation together freshman year, and their acquaintanceship had consisted mostly of making biting remarks at one another and coming to blows once or twice. Lance had liked to play rivals with Keith that year, too, but that was in a fun way—James just talked shit and got hit.

“What? I don’t owe you shit,” said Keith, taking a swig of his drink. “I didn’t break your nose last time we fought, so, if anything you owe me.”

“You’re a shit, Kogane,” said Griffin. Keith laughed, sharply and singularly, before throwing a few more dollars into the pool to be petty. He’d get it back, and more. Krolia would wreck this kid, and James continued to underestimate her, even as the bets against him piled up. “You’re not going to see that money again—it’ll be mine by the end of the night.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” said Keith. “She’ll wipe the floor with you.”

The competition commenced within the hour, James’ confidence changing as Krolia gained supporters. He’d practically already lost by the time Keith made his comment about how kicking Griffin’s ass must have been a trait he’d inherited, but the way that James flubbed his throw in response completely toppled his chances. He blustered for a moment before raising his hand to point an accusing finger at Keith.

“Fuck you. Betting on your mom is cheating!” James demanded.

“If it was, Pidge would’ve stopped me,” said Keith. “You know how they are about the rules.”

“That’s true,” said Pidge. “Not Keith’s fault you got too big for your britches. We all knew she’d absolutely annihilate you.”

This spurred a chorus of laughter around the skeeball lanes, and although he tried, Griffin could not scrounge up enough points to catch up to Krolia. At the end, once the pool was split and James was chugging his drink to cope with the loss, Krolia was nice enough to offer him some of her ticket winnings so he could get himself a shitty plastic slinky and some bouncy balls.

“If she can’t pawn them all off on you, she’ll give all of them to me,” said Keith. “You don’t want that, do you?”

James grimaced.

“If you don’t want them, I’ll take them,” said one of the onlookers who’d stopped his partying to watch the skeeball showdown. The guy was wearing onesie pajamas as his costume, but in the weird lighting and with the hood down, Keith couldn’t really tell what it was supposed to be. “I’m trying to get enough for one of the big prizes so I don’t have to buy my sister a birthday present.”

Krolia handed the random spectator a chunk of her tickets anyway.

“I’m leaving soon anyway, the girls are ready to move on to the next haunt,” said Krolia. Because James continued to refuse, she gave Keith what was left of the tickets, shoving them into his breast pocket so that they spilled out like a bouquet. Keith laughed and started folding them up to better fit them in his pockets. “You have a plan, kid?”

“Yes, Mom,” said Keith.

Griffin stalked off, muttering to himself. Krolia patted Keith’s shoulder affectionately and took her leave in the opposite direction.

“That was hilarious, man,” said Onesie Guy. “Your mom is awesome. My mom is a middle school librarian who collects Charlie Brown memorabilia. Damn.”

“Yeah, she’s alright,” said Keith. “We don’t have the usual mother-son relationship, but it works for us.”

“Yeah,” said the guy. “Uh, so. I gotta go get some more tickets if I’m going to get something that actually passes as a gift.”

“It helps that they have adults in mind for some of the prizes,” said Keith, finishing with his tickets and securing them in his pocket. He finally looked up to get a better look at the guy—tall and curly-haired with a nice smile. “I’ve gotten my share of trash, but also my brother and I pitched in for an envelope full of mystery gift certificates once.”

“Awesome.”

“Yeah,” said Keith.

They stood there awkwardly and Keith took a final swig from his bottle before gesturing towards the bar, an indication that he was going to get another. He swung by the tables again to eat some onion rings and a chicken strip before taking his charged token card to the rows of arcade games.

He was playing an old space themed battle game when someone tapped the side of the machine.

“Next game,” said Onesie Guy.

“Yeah, just—” Keith cut himself off with a spree of button pressing, finishing off his timed game and ripping out his tickets. “Go ahead.”

“Hi again,” said the guy.

“Yeah, hi,” said Keith. “Good luck.”

Keith played a few games before he refreshed his drink and returned to his group. He spent time watching the dancers with Pidge and allowed himself to debate Star Wars theories with Matt, a pursuit that tended to get heated. They all played some shooting game that Keith sucked at, followed by the motocross game that Keith always, always won.

When he was on his own, Keith ran into Onesie Guy a few more times. Eventually, he figured out that it was a Charmander onesie, so Keith offered him a crumb: Charmander was one of Keith’s favorite starters. It started a conversation about Pokémon that lasted until Keith spotted the sword-fighting game he’d always liked. He was feeling amicable, between the booze and the atmosphere, so he left space on the other side of the game cabinet and said, “I wouldn’t stay no to a player two.”

His name was Mike and he was a senior at the university, studying graphic design and marketing. He was funny and was actually a pretty quiet opponent when they started the game—most people Keith played arcade games with talked his ear off the whole time. Lance especially, since he was so playfully competitive, but nowadays they often competed for kisses or something equally inconsequential.

Mike was nice. They talked about random stuff they liked between games, and when Mike mentioned his dog, Keith brought up his work—which seemed fascinating to Mike, even if his own dog was still living with his parents in California. Keith got to show him pictures of Kosmo, which was one of his favorite things to do since getting his own puppy.

“He’s massive already,” said Keith. “He’s just going to get bigger, he’s like…half Great Pyrenees with some Newfoundland or something. But he’s a good boy.”

“I’m sure,” said Mike. “You’re training him well, I assume?”

“I do my best,” said Keith.

Eventually, as they made their way around the arcade section of the bar, they came across a claw machine that had been filled with Halloween themed prizes—pumpkin and witch plushies, reusable coffee cups that had gift cards inside, and a smiling candy corn that Keith immediately wanted for Kosmo. Though it was also a little bit for Lance, since it was Lance who would go gaga over how cute it would be.

Keith thought it would be really cute, too, but he wouldn’t devote hours of his life to getting the perfect photo like Lance would.

Keith stepped up to the claw machine and swiped his token card, freshly filled from his last trip to the kiosk. The game whirred to life and Keith got to work, positioning the claw as close as he could to the candy corn guy and slamming the button—it did nothing more than jostle the pile before returning to the hub. Keith tried a few more times, but he was almost always in the wrong place, and the one time he almost got it, the claw let go.

“Have you ever actually won one of these?” asked Mike, laughter seeping into his tone.

“No, but they’re not _impossible_. Just tricky,” said Keith without looking at him. He went to get his card from where it sat on the console, but Mike had grabbed it and held it behind his back. Keith growled. “Dude.”

“I didn’t say they were impossible—hold on—” Mike dodged Keith swatting at him and grabbing for his card. “I was going to say they take a special hand. I happen to be pretty precise with these things.”

“So?”

“So,” said Mike. “If you let me, I’ll win the little candy guy for you.”

“For my dog, actually,” Keith said, holding his hand out impatiently. “Sure, go ahead, just give my thing back.”

“That’s an even better deal—I don’t even know your dog, but I love him,” Mike said, chuckling and pressing the card into Keith’s palm. His fingers seemed to linger on Keith’s hand, which spurred a shiver up his arm—Keith tried to be subtle when he pulled away. “Okay, here goes.”

It took Mike two tries, and he smiled suavely when the claw dropped the plush into the receptacle. Before Mike could, Keith was leaning down to get it, blindly reaching through the flap as he watched Mike carefully. Mostly to prevent knocking heads with him, literally, but also because there was something behind the guy’s quiet pride.

“Thanks,” said Keith. “Uhm.”

“No problem,” said Mike. “I was actually wondering…”

Keith wasn’t the best at people, and he tended to add things up in hindsight rather than as they happened. And today he wasn’t at his sharpest. Sure, Mike seemed like the person who was just being nice, but that didn’t mean his friendly motives flew unaccompanied; the bro energy had thrown Keith off, masking other intentions. Gay intentions.

But now, he could see it. Maybe he’d seen it earlier and ignored it a little, because he’d kind of liked the attention. In a friendly way. A lonely way.

“Wait,” Keith interrupted. “This isn’t…like a romantic gesture or something, is it?”

“Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Keith echoed. “I—”

“I’m sorry,” Mike hurried to say, stumbling over his words. He held his hands up, as if putting a shield between himself and Keith and waving them around for emphasis. “I thought you were—but I guess I was—”

“I’m sorry, I don’t—I just thought you wanted to be friendly, I didn’t—”

Someone waiting for the claw machine cleared their throat, and Keith’s eyes darted over to a trio of girls standing there with their arms crossed impatiently. Keith and Mike were still blocking the game, so they stepped aside in opposite directions, leaving an even bigger gap between them. Keith was tempted to leave it at that and disappear, but he still held the candy corn of mysterious connotation and Mike’s eyes were pleading with him under the multicolored lights.

They moved to the end of the aisle of games to finish the conversation. The apology. The whatever it was.

“Let’s start over,” said Mike, scratching nervously at his arm through his sleeve. “Yes, I was going to ask to see you again, or something. But I, um. I was just trying to be nice with that.” He nodded at the candy corn. “You don’t have to feel weird about it. It’s not a gay candy corn.”

Keith snorted in laughter, despite himself.

“I don’t…it’s not the gay part that I was worried about,” said Keith. “The gay vibes you got from me are accurate, but I have a boyfriend.”

“Ah,” said Mike. “Yeah, of course.”

“I didn’t mean to give you signs…”

“You _didn’t_. You’re just cool and I like you,” said Mike. “Uh, like. Not inherently in that way, but. You’re also really good looking so I was like _fuck it_ and tried to shoot my shot. But you have someone already, and he’s really lucky, dude. So. Yeah. End of story.”

“I’m the lucky one, really,” said Keith.

“Well,” said Mike. “Maybe I’ll see you and him around sometime, yeah?”

Keith smiled. “Maybe.”

Mike gave a little wave before backtracking into the arcade, while Keith returned to the tables full of his friends. He ran into Matt on the way, emerging from another row of games.

“That’s fucking cute,” said Matt, eyeing the plushie that Keith held in one hand. “How many tickets was it?”

“Evil claw machine bounty,” said Keith. “Horrible luck. I’m going to give it to Kosmo so he can banish the bad vibes.”

Matt thought that was hilarious, and slung his arm around Keith’s shoulders. Keith let himself be guided to the prize counter instead of the tables. After some deliberation, he spent his tickets on a gift certificate to paint pottery, for a future date, and because he was thinking of Lance, he also got the goofy looking shark slippers. Which he would undoubtedly wear over his shark socks.

Back at the table, Keith folded up the gift certificate to fit in his pocket, and tucked the slippers under his arm with the candy corn.

“I think I’m going to head out. Take the bus to Lance’s,” said Keith, directing it at Pidge and not the sloppy, giggly Matt that plopped down in the booth across from them. “That cool with you?”

“Yeah, whatever,” they said. “Text us when you get there? And don’t sit next to any weirdos.”

Keith agreed, and headed out. The bus stop was just around the corner, and the bus ride just fifteen minutes up the road and to the right. He only had to walk a block to Lance’s building, and he let himself in with the set of keys Lance gave him in the summer. In order to fish them out, he had to juggle his armful of prizes a little, but nothing took a tumble and Keith had the presence of mind to keep his keyring in his hand as he walked up to Lance’s apartment.

He entered with a clatter, dropping his keys in the bowl and setting his winnings down. Keith had to wrestle with the laces to get his boots off, and he lined them up next to the other shoes there while he stretched and wiggled his newly freed toes. Lance’s shift was probably ending right about now, but he wouldn’t be home for at least thirty minutes, so Keith had plenty of time to clean up a little—though Lance would probably make him dress up as Clark Kent again in the morning if he did.

Slippers dangling from one hand and candy corn in the other, Keith set off—walking right past the TV playing Halloweentown before it clicked. Lance’s keys in the bowl and the television on and his nurse shoes by the door. Lance himself, curled up on the couch with a cat in his lap, his lips parting as though he was just about to speak up to get Keith’s attention.

“What are you doing here?” Keith asked. Demanded, almost. Lance was supposed to be working.

“Uh,” said Lance. “Technically, I’m working. Wait, what time is it?” Lance picked up his phone to answer his own question. “Yeah, I’m on call for like five more minutes.”

“You’re on call.”

“Yeah,” said Lance. “I’m on call.”

“And you didn’t tell me,” said Keith sharply. Lance exhaled, puffing the air up towards the curls across his forehead. He pushed his bangs aside and looked sheepishly around the room. “Lance, you know how much I miss you.”

“I know,” said Lance, scratching behind Dolly’s ears and avoiding Keith’s gaze. “I just knew you’d want to come over if I told you. I wanted you to go out and have a good time, not stay here doing jack shit with me.”

“But—”

“Plus,” Lance said, looking up at Keith. His attention drifted for a split-second to the energetic commercial on the TV, but he refocused quickly. “If you were here, it would be extra hard for me to leave and go to work if they needed me.”

“Bullshit,” said Keith. “I—ugh.”

“Baby,” said Lance. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t to hurt you. It was kinda the opposite—waiting up for me all the time is what’s hurting you.”

“Missing you is what’s hurting me,” said Keith. “I don’t—I just have nothing to do! You know I’m not the idea guy, and everything I would want to do, I’d want to do it with you. It’s not just because we’re dating, it’s because you’re my best friend, and I miss you.”

Keith sighed heavily, dropping what he was carrying in the armchair and lumbering over to Lance, where he tugged angrily on the blanket across his legs. His intention was just to climb under it beside Lance, but he disturbed Dolly Parton and she leapt from Lance’s lap, miffed. She stalked off to hunt a toy mouse, and Keith took her place smugly and scowly even as he snuggled up with Lance.

“How dare you,” said Lance blithely. “You should never disturb a cat loaf.”

“That’s only if they’re sleeping,” Keith grumbled, pressing as close to Lance as he could and effectively dissolving any personal space Lance thought he might have left. Lance didn’t seem to mind, turning his head to press a kiss against Keith’s sweaty hair. Keith groaned. “I wouldn’t have minded doing nothing with you.”

“I know,” said Lance. “That’s literally my point. You can’t just wait around for me all the time, it’s—”

“I know,” said Keith sourly, because he’d heard it all before. This was what everyone had been trying to tell him, and he’d sort of been listening. He just didn’t take the advice, stubbornly leaning into his single-minded tendencies. His single mind, wrapped up in Lance at all times. “I’ll try, okay? Even if it’s just. Hanging out with Hunk here. Or I’ll…I’ll go to game night at Pidge’s.”

“Sounds good,” said Lance. He watched a scene play out on the TV, his face lit by the blue light and the screen reflected in his eyes. Lance watched his movie and Keith watched Lance. “I’ll tell you next time. Promise.”

“Thanks,” said Keith. “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

“Hey, I know you,” said Lance. “Well enough that most of your grumpy doesn’t phase me. Especially when you’re just grumpy because you love me,” Lance adopted a sing-songy tone, and Keith contemplated slapping his germy, nasty hand over Lance’s mouth to shut him up. But honestly, it would probably bring on more hysterics. “You miss me, you really want to kiss me.”

“Yeah,” said Keith. “Really wanna do other things to you, too.”

“Oooh! Spicy.”

At the next commercial break, Keith leaned in to press a soft, short-lived kiss to Lance’s upturned lips. Which turned into a few more kisses, each a little messier than the last, Lance giggling into them and bringing a hand up to tangle in Keith’s hair.

“Hey,” said Lance, withdrawing after a few minutes of this. “Did you have fun tonight? You look hot, you’ll have to wear this for me again sometime.”

“Gross,” said Keith, but he didn’t mean it. “You know, you almost got me killed talking about my ass in the group chat right in front of Pidge again.”

“Oh no,” said Lance, feigning concern. “If they hurt you, I’ll have to hurt them.”

Keith twisted his fingers in Lance’s shirt and tugged him close again, intending to kiss him more. Lance dodged his mouth, peppering Keith’s cheek with kisses instead. Keith sighed and decided he might as well use his mouth another way, detailing his time at the Pixel—Lance laughed into his shoulder for a while when Keith told him about Krolia’s landslide skeeball win, but sobered a little when Keith added a significant pause after his mention of Mike the Onesie Guy.

“That’s something I would do,” said Lance, drawing back to sit against the arm of the couch. Their legs were still pressed together under the blanket, but to Keith he felt far away. “Costume plus comfy equal happy Lance.”

“Yeah.”

“So?” Lance prompted. He spoke lightly, and he didn’t seem jealous or angry, but Keith wasn’t sure. They hadn’t really hit this sort of bump yet, so he didn’t know what to expect from Lance. “Mike the Charmander.”

“Yeah,” said Keith again, heaving a sigh. “Uh, he was cool. We hung out and played some games. I think that…well, I know that he liked me, because he was going to ask me out, but. I stopped him. Nothing happened, and I wasn’t interested in anything happening.”

“Figures,” said Lance. “You can’t help that you’re hot. Did he…he didn’t get angry with you, did he? Because we can go back and smack him with the Whack-a-Mole mallet.”

“No, he was nice about it,” said Keith. “I just wanted to tell you because I—well I want you to trust me. People can show interest all they want, and no matter how hot they are or how much I like them as a person, I’m going to reject them.”

“Ruthlessly,” said Lance, clearly joking now. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

“No,” said Keith. “But I’ll say in no uncertain terms that I am completely in love with one person and one person only. I could even change my lock screen like you’ve been bugging me to do, just so everyone is clear.”

“Okay,” said Lance. “Thank you for telling me. I…uh, I’m not as insecure as I used to be, but it’s still there. I’m still going to need affirmation and like. Evidence that you continue to want me. I trust you! I just don’t trust my brain not to try convincing me not to, you know?”

“Yeah,” said Keith. “I get it. Brain mean.”

Lance laughed, lifting his arms to make grabby hands at Keith. Keith couldn’t say no to him, and he didn’t want to—he closed the distance between them again, this time letting Lance pull him into his lap. Lance didn’t stop there, scooting down on the couch so that he lay across it, Keith laying on top of him. It was cozy, but it had jostled the blanket so that it fell into a pool on the ground. Keith reached to bring it back up around them, but Lance made a sound of protest at the tiny bit of lost contact.

“Lance,” said Keith.

“Keeeeith,” said Lance. “Come baaack.”

Keith came back. He’d always come back.

He held the blanket around his shoulders so that when he nestled back into Lance’s chest, it would drape over the both of them. It fluttered when he laid down, settling around them and trapping in the warmth of two bodies. Keith shifted a little, adjusting the placement of his arms, before closing his eyes and listening to Lance’s heartbeat with one ear, the final act of the movie with the other.

They showered, eventually, and trudged to Lance’s bed—warmer and cozier and with much more room for the both of them. Lance playfully bit his shoulder when he settled under the covers, his only explanation being that Keith was yummy, which earned him a pinch on his thigh, which turned into a little bit of groping.

They prodded at each other lovingly for a few more minutes before Lance flopped on his back and said, with finality, “Okay, I’m tired. Goodnight.”

Keith kissed the side of Lance’s face, lingering for the barest moment, feeling his cheek shift when he smiled.

“G’night,” said Keith. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

****

The first day of November was brought in with blueberry pancakes, not as good as Hunk made them but passable. And Keith couldn’t lick batter off of Hunk’s cheek without it being weird. Not that it wasn’t weird when he did it to Lance, but at least it was sexy-weird.

When the dishes were in the sink and the leftovers stashed in the fridge, Keith dragged Lance back down the hall and backed him into the bed.

“Domesticity turns you on,” said Lance, gasping a little when Keith kissed the tender folds of his stomach. His breath shuddered more when Keith’s nimble fingers dragged his boxers down. “Oh, the pancakes weren’t enough for you?”

“Shut up, or I won’t suck your dick.”

“You say that all the time,” said Lance. “It almost never stops you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Keith, swooping in to sweep his tongue along one of the veins in Lance’s cock and delighting in the breathless laugh he earned for his trouble. It was enough to stir Lance’s arousal and bring him to full hardness, the sensitive head peeking out of the foreskin. Keith kissed it wetly, took it gently into his mouth.

He employed a few more techniques Lance loved, reducing him to a babbling, quivering mess—which was always lovely to see and here. He was beautiful like this, begging for more as he held Keith’s hair out of the way, eyes blown wide as he watched Keith unravel him with just his lips and tongue.

Lance was beautiful always.

“Keith,” Lance said, stroking Keith’s bangs out of his face. “Baby, baby, hold on. Stop.”

Keith made a noise of protest, but he pulled off anyway and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“What?” Keith knew he sounded annoyed, but he crawled up the bed to stare Lance down anyway, waiting for the oh-so-important reason he had for stopping Keith from finishing him off.

“Kisses,” said Lance, reaching up to cup the back of Keith’s neck, dragging him down to his mouth. He kissed Keith slowly and tenderly, apparently not minding the weird flavor combination of blueberry essence and precum.

Keith supposed this was important enough, and he indulged in it wholeheartedly, licking the inside of Lance’s mouth and tugging lightly on his lip when he grew impatient. The heat and wetness inside his own underwear was getting out of hand. He found Lance’s hand where it had pushed up into Keith’s hair and untangled it—not painlessly, but Keith didn’t have time to pity his scalp.

Lance made a noise of acknowledgement against Keith’s mouth as his hand was moved from Keith’s head down to his hip, where he could easily tug down the loose boxers that Keith had worn to bed. Which he’d fished out of his own drawer in the bottom of Lance’s dresser. He had keys and a drawer and Lance’s had an extra set of shampoo in his shower and it didn’t feel fast at all.

“Hmmmm, when’s your lease up?” asked Keith, drawing back but still nuzzling Lance’s warm, flushed face with his own. 

“Oh wow, talk dirty to me,” said Lance, tugging his hand out of Keith’s underwear. He drew back and gazed up at the ceiling, his forehead wrinkling up in thought. Keith kissed his little furrow lines. “Uuuuh we renewed it again last month? No, August. For the year.”

“Okay,” said Keith. “Good to know. Carry on.”

“Baby.”

“Just planning ahead,” said Keith. “Don’t worry about it.”

“As if you ever plan ahead. What’s cookin’, good-lookin?” asked Lance, nudging Keith off of him so they could look at one another. “I think I know, but I want to hear you say it anyway.”

“Nooo it’s sex time. We’re doing sex.”

“It’s also feelings time,” said Lance. “You know I can’t separate them. Also, you started it—not my fault talking about my lease kills my boner a little bit.”

Keith turned his head to look at Lance and nearly got a mouthful of his own hair. He brushed it aside and noted the way Lance looked on, amused. He was disastrously horny and had a lot of things he wanted to do to Lance and for Lance to do to him, but all of that could wait another minute.

“Thinking about moving in with you,” said Keith. “In like a year, obviously. Well, I wasn’t thinking about timing when I said it, but. The timing makes sense, now.”

“Okay,” said Lance. “We’ll talk about it when that gets closer.”

“You think you’ll want to?” Keith asked cautiously. “I mean—that won’t be too soon?”

“ _Of course_ I want to,” said Lance. “Sweetheart, as much as you think you’re getting ahead of yourself, I promise you I’ve thought about all of it, too. I’m not afraid of commitment.”

“I’m not, either,” said Keith. “Not anymore.”

Lance pushed himself up on his elbow, hovering over Keith with his freckles and his bedhead and his nakedness—Keith couldn’t keep himself from grabbing Lance and pulling him down against his own body, kissing him hard. Lance hummed into Keith’s mouth and resumed what he’d been doing before, snaking his hand into the back of Keith’s boxers and pushing his hips right into Lance’s.

Lance’s interest renewed, hot against the crotch of Keith’s underwear and the wet spot growing there.

“Clothes off,” said Keith, and Lance wasted no time. Once he tossed the boxers aside, his fingers skated down to where Keith wanted them, circling his dick and easing it out of hiding; skating through the wetness that had gathered around his hole. “Kiss me.”

Lance kissed him as he sunk his fingers into Keith, twisting and stroking to get Keith worked up. He wanted him good and desperate. He said so, whispering it hotly into Keith’s neck, his free hand pushing aside hair to grant him access to the soft places along Keith’s jaw and throat. Lance mouthed at places that made Keith gooey inside, and Keith rocked against his fingers, wrapped his legs around Lance’s hips, panted into Lance’s sweet-smelling skin.

“Okay?”

Lance caught Keith’s face with his hand, holding his cheek in his palm.

“Want you want you want you,” said Keith. “Want you so bad, it’s been so long.”

“Has it?” Lance furrowed his brow again. “I guess it has. Though you fucked me good last week—too bad we don’t have a strap here, huh?”

“Don’t care right now,” said Keith. “I’m so horny, Lance, if you don’t fuck me, I’ll find something else to shove up there. Want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”

“Oh,” said Lance, withdrawing his fingers. “Don’t say that. I always do you right.”

After some fumbling for a condom and some extra lube to ease the way, Lance gave Keith what he wanted and then some. He thrust into Keith with long, deep strokes—too slow at first, but Keith got him to a happy medium between lazy fucking and really railing him. Lance had a point when he said that he always did Keith right; it was kind of ridiculous how good Lance was giving it to him. It was plain old missionary sex that was phenomenal because it was them.

When Lance brought his fingers to Keith’s growth again, stroking it as close to the rhythm of his thrusts as he could get, it was clear it would be over sooner rather than later. It felt good to climb upwards with Lance’s breath in his ear, but at the same time, Keith didn’t want it to end. Ever.

Lance was drawing back to build up his thrust, but when Keith bucked into his fingers he slid out almost entirely. Cursing, Lance fumbled to guide his way back in, and Keith’s shaky hand joined in. Lance’s cock entered at a new angle and he only had to nail it a few more times before Keith grunted and came hard around him.

“Fuuuuuck,” said Lance. “Do you want me to…fuck…keep going?”

The question was punctuated with a gentle rock of Lance’s hips against Keith’s.

Keith shook his head. Instead, he pushed Lance away and onto his back, ending their romp how it had started—his lips around Lance’s cock.

Keith spit out the cum into the trash can and rooted through the covers to find his boxers before running to the bathroom to clean up. Lance whined, but he let Keith go about his business uninterrupted, beaming brightly when he came back to bed.

“That was incredible,” said Lance. “Was it everything you wanted?”

“Yeah,” said Keith, kissing Lance’s cheek, his chin, the corner of his mouth before finally planting one on his lips. Lance’s hand wrapped warmly around Keith’s hip, the touch somehow chaste despite their nudity and the aftermath. They lay there in their glow for a while, just kissing and whispering across the pillows. Keith felt safe, loved, wanted—he told Lance, baring his heart, and Lance came out and said he felt the same. Right now, anyway.

“Hey,” said Keith. “I really, really love you.”

“I really, really, _really_ love you,” said Lance, craning his neck out to kiss Keith’s nose. “I’m off tomorrow, do you think we could use the pottery thing then? I wanna paint a plate.”

Keith shifted closer, pressing his face into Lance’s pillow right beside his bare shoulder. Leave it to Lance to change the subject at the drop of a hat.

“Yeah,” said Keith. “And we can go to my place and see Kosmo. He misses you.”

“Of course he does,” said Lance. “He’s my widdle Wolfy-Woo and he wuvs me.”

Keith shoved Lance’s shoulder and rolled away, turning his back to Lance and hiding his smile in the other pillow, biting his lip to contain the laughter. Lance baby-talking was so, so stupid, but also so cute, and it was just another on the long list of things Keith loved about him.

Lance hummed happily, rolling into Keith’s space and plastering his chest against Keith’s bare back. He wrapped his arm around Keith’s chest and shoved the other under a pillow, snuggling close and tucking his chin into Keith’s shoulder. 

It was good. It was warm, safe, loved, wanted. 

“I love you,” Keith said again, relaxing against Lance.

“Mhmm,” Lance mumbled against Keith’s shoulder. “Mine.”

“Yeah,” said Keith. “I’m all yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> I want to clarify that in no way is this supposed to demonstrate an unhealthy dependence on Keith's part. It's like growing pains, and he's addressing it. I'm sure in this day and age we can relate to really, really missing a loved one that's very busy or that we can't see for COVID reasons. That's kind of what I was going for. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
